


Altschmerz

by demonessryu



Series: Words that are Hard to Translate [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Time, Getting Together, Living Together, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Secret Crush, Secret Relationship, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonessryu/pseuds/demonessryu
Summary: Thorin left Erebor. Kili followed.
Relationships: Kíli/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Words that are Hard to Translate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040530
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Altschmerz

**Author's Note:**

> I checked the date this story was created and it was almost a year ago. I, uh, completely forgot about it. At that time, I was reading things and I wanted to try this format because it goes against my usual rambling style. It’s a bit frustrating to have to leave out some things and choose the most important things to write, but it's a nice exercise.
> 
> Altschmerz: weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had.

Thorin wanted to leave Erebor.

The realization shocked him. He had waited so long, overcome so many hardships to regain his rightful station, and now, only a decade into his reign, he wanted to leave his kingship to his heir. But, Thorin had spent all his life leading people – first as a prince, then as a crownless king, and finally as a _proper_ dwarf king. He wouldn’t deny being satisfied when he finally sat on the old throne with his grandfather’s raven crown atop his head, the culmination of decades of dreaming. However, that satisfaction had slowly turned into boredom no political success could cure and Thorin began to wonder if there was more than political power, royal privileges, and inherited obligations to life.

Thorin was more than a Durin’s son, heir to a powerful dwarf kingdom. He was many other things: brother, friend, uncle, lover. Yet, his whole life he had been defined by his blood, by long-gone dwarfs whose lives still echoed in the present. Thorin’s brief experience as a common dwarf had been marred by bitterness. Yet, he still remembered the quiet satisfaction of living in a small cottage, surrounded by things he made with his own hands or bought with hard earned money, making something of himself on his own term, as humble and simple as it might be. His kingdom glittered green and his gold was the envy of Middle Earth, but was wealth to quiet contentment? Thorin casted his eyes around the enormous halls and endless tunnels of Erebor. His guilt and sense of responsibility faded away as he failed to find an answer there.

* * *

“You are still young yet, laddie.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I can’t believe my ears!”

“Nor I. What a ridiculous notion!”

“This is your worst idea yet, Thorin.”

“How are we supposed to lead our people without you?”

“ _What?_ No!”

Thorin looked at every disgruntled and fretful expression of his loyal company and Dis and wasn’t surprised. Neither did he change his mind. The next morning, just as the sun rose, he set out to his new home, leaving his fine clothes, weapons, and jewelries behind. It was strange how after over a century of longing to see the peak of the Lonely Mountain, he was relieved to leave it behind.

* * *

Thorin set his eyes on a small town midway between Rivendell and Hobbiton, so unremarkable it went unmentioned in most maps. He arrived in the middle of spring, when flowers were blooming and turn the small town as colorful as a box of gemstones. In hardly any time at all, he purchased a small house badly in need of repair near the edge of the town and built a small forge near it. Many decades had passed since he last did such labors and past knowledge returned haltingly to him. Progress was slow, but still Thorin persevered through uncertainty and mistakes.

If he had one complaint, it was the silence, the absence of any noise beside the creaking of his old house. It was easily remedied, however. There was a small tavern nearby that Thorin went to for a cure for the longing for the company he had been surrounded with. No one sat with him at the corner of the tavern, the meal before him wasn’t a feast and his body ached from a long day of work. Yet, as he watched friends and foes mingled and sang and forgot their daily hardships, he smiled and relaxed.

* * *

The forge came together just as the gold Thorin had brought with him thinned, so he wasted no time to start his enterprise. No customer came the first few days, his dwarf neighbors watching him from a distance and the men only showing faint interest. Thorin wondered if the dwarves recognized him and if the news of the new King under the Mountain had reached the town, but they never mentioned the politics of Erebor and Thorin didn’t probe for information. His attention was directed entirely on his task of making farming tools to be sold to the townsfolk. The labor left his body aching and his heart light as he sat in front of his small hearth at night.

The first customer came when Thorin was thinking about the sturdy weight of a sword pommel in his hand and delicate strings of his golden harp under his fingertips. The dwarf looked nervous as he presented a cracked pickaxe to Thorin, as if he wasn’t sure whether Thorin would think it worthy to repair it. With just a cursory look, Thorin knew it wasn’t complicated work, requiring no finesse or skill that he actually had. But, he accepted the job and when he handed the pickaxe back to its owner – already restored to its original simple practicality – and received his first meager pay, Thorin found himself completely satisfied. He picked up his hammer and returned to the farming tools, Elven swords and golden harps buried deep in the far recesses of his mind.

* * *

An old dwarf who lived several houses away invited Thorin for dinner. He was too old to lift a pickaxe or a hammer and so was dependent on his miner daughter. Yet, he seemed as sharp as ever as he refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. Thorin went apprehensively. The first thing that caught his eyes as he entered the humble house was a broken shield and an old axe hanging in a place of pride over a small hearth. When the old dwarf added some logs to the fire, Thorin could see on his arms jagged lines of scars from a battle many decades past.

Dinner was a small and simple affair of soup and roasted chicken. The daughter was nervous at first, but gained his confidence after seeing that Thorin didn’t mind what little they could offer. Her father was mostly quiet, watching Thorin closely from across the table. However, as Thorin made his exit, he extended another invitation for the next week. He responded to Thorin’s polite refusal with a firm shake of his head.

“We look after each other here, laddie,” he said, patting Thorin’s back in an almost fatherly gesture.

Thorin came back the next week.

* * *

A few months after his arrival, Thorin knew all his neighbors by name. They came to him when they needed help and he knew he could come to them when he needed the same. He now had a table at the tavern, where the old warrior sometimes accompanied him to quietly reminisce about the search for a new home in the west. A man sometimes came, too, to pine for his sweetheart, a lady whom Thorin noticed stole glances at the man as often as he stole glances at her. On occasions, elves traveled through the town. Some of them had grown a liking to Thorin’s work. They told Thorin about the best places to hunt and the darker parts of the forest he should avoid.

One day, when helping a neighbor repair his crumbling shed, Thorin noticed how callused his hands had become. Gone was the softness acquired from an occupation whose most laborious tasks were writing his name at the bottom of parchments and speaking to a council of advisors. He couldn’t imagine holding a quill or musical instruments anymore, but he didn’t feel sorry for the roughness he had gained. Thorin hammered a piece of wood firmly, reinforcing his place in the small town with every swing.

* * *

At the beginning of his first winter there, a child of his neighbor fell terribly ill. The parents were blessed with a big family, but not a big fortune, so Thorin gave them a small pouch of coins he had saved for the difficult season. It wasn’t a wise decision, but it was the best option.

Weeks later, when snow fell heavily outside and cold winds penetrated the thin walls of Thorin’s house, he sat in front of the flaming hearth with a thick blanket around his shoulders, missing the warmth of the sun and the solidity of a mountain around him, green grass under his feet and a loud ringing laughter he hadn’t heard in months. Then, the family came with a basket of food and cheer that Thorin’s house was too small to contain. They sat close together, sharing warmth and happiness and stories as if they were family. The creaking old house wasn’t the mountains Thorin had spent many decades in, but surrounded by friends, it was a home.

* * *

It was spring when Thorin was found. Kili appeared one day at the end of Thorin’s street and moved ever closer to the forge by day. His distinct appearance announced that his station was above everybody in the small town. His sword and bow intimidated them.

The old warrior gave watched the visitor sharply, holding his cane in an unmistakable manner. Thorin’s neighbors looked out of their windows every so often. Thorin’s lovelorn friend at the tavern seemed to pass his forge every hour. There were children playing on the street and as soon as Kili shifted his stance, they made to run to their watchful parents. Thorin sighed in exasperation even as an amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

When Kili came to pretend to read under a tree near Thorin’s forge, Thorin called out to him, “if you don’t want anything from me, you should leave. You’re scaring away my customers.”

Kili left. Thorin tried to continue working, but eventually retreated into his house. A whole year and a new society could turn a king into a common dwarf, but some things, some feelings couldn’t be altered. Thorin should know better. He had tried for decades in vain.

* * *

Kili returned a few days later with a cracked sword coated with blood (not orc blood, Thorin noted with relief). He presented it to Thorin with a large triumphant grin as if he was showing Thorin something to be proud of.

“What have you done this time?” Thorin asked as he examined the sword.

“I scared away a band of bandits down the mountain road!” Kili announced happily. He looked at Thorin as if he was expected a compliment.

Thorin turned his back to Kili, hardening his heart to no avail. “It shouldn’t take long to fix.” He gave his fee and hoped Kili would leave him be. Naturally, Kili took this as an invitation to sit on an old chair in the corner, whittling a piece of wood and humming a cheerful tune. Thorin caught sight of the old warrior from the corner of his eyes. The dwarf raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Thorin’s unexpected guest. It barely took a second for Thorin to shake his head.

* * *

Kili came to Thorin’s forge every day and proved his peaceful intention by spending the hours whittling and singing. Thorin’s neighbors became less watchful, although still cautious, leaving Thorin to handle his sister-son all on his own. Perhaps they would’ve been more compassionate had they known that Thorin was powerless against him. A year had passed since Thorin left his kingdom to his heir, a decade since he led his company of only thirteen to an ill-advised battle, over three-quarter of a century since he taught Kili how to be a proper warrior prince, yet Kili was still himself, no different from any other young dwarf with hardly any burden upon their shoulders, unmarred by failed expectations and memories of blood bath. If not for his sword and regal appearance, few would suspect him to be a great warrior, just a wandering young dwarf in search of experience in Middle Earth. Even Thorin was almost fooled.

“It’s a nice town you chose, Thorin.” Kili remarked. “And even nicer neighbors.”

“You’re welcome to enjoy the town – I’m sure you’ll find something to amuse you. I’ll bring you your sword when I’m done with it,” Thorin grumbled, not looking away from the metal he was shaping with fire and force.

Wood creaked as Kili made himself more comfortable on the rickety chair. “I’d rather stay here. I like it. It’s very peaceful,” he said with familiar softness that made Thorin’s heart ache with longing.

Thorin paused to wipe sweat off his brows and looked out of a nearby window at the small street, the rows of houses, and the dwarfs and men and even elves who looked at him not with deference and expectation, but artless affection, and couldn’t help but agree.

* * *

The sword was fully repaired a couple of days later. Kili happily paid Thorin’s fee and left. He didn’t return the day after or the day after that or the day after the day after that. When a week passed without him, Thorin realized that he had left, probably to return to Erebor. Thorin settled back into his routine, but only after he fixed Kili’s chair and put it where he could see it while he worked.

* * *

Kili returned in the summer when the forest surrounding the town was lush green and the sky was perfect blue. This time, he came to Thorin with a broken axe and a fantastical story about a misadventure in a forest in the far east of Middle Earth. He sat back on his chair and told Thorin all that had come to pass in the weeks he had been gone from Thorin’s forge. Instead of whittling, this time he made toys to give away to the children spying on him, endearing himself to them and their parents.

“Don’t you worry that I’ve told my brother where you are?” he asked one day when the children had gone away.

“If you had, he would’ve been here by now,” Thorin replied as he tamed heated metal on his anvil with his hammer.

Kili laughed. “That’s true.”

He eyed Thorin as if expecting him to ask why he hadn’t. Thorin kept his silence.

* * *

Thorin was well aware of how easily Kili could win people over, how people gravitated toward him, drawn by his endless cheer and gentle heart. It was a valuable quality for his princely station. However, Kili was more than the privileges and obligations he was born into, more than a warrior, more than a Durin’s son.

The tavern was livelier with Kili, who filled the room with laughter, stories, and songs. Thorin watched him learn old tavern songs from old dwarfs, danced with anyone who asked, and plotted mischief and romance with drunken patrons. Every so often, his eyes met Thorin’s across the room. Thorin might have stared at death unflinchingly in battlefields. But, looking into eyes that reflected so much of what he had kept to himself for decades, Thorin looked away first.

* * *

Kili stayed a whole fortnight and when he was gone, children came to Thorin to inquire about their generous friend. The man from the tavern seemed disappointed that he couldn’t invite Kili to his wedding. Only the dwarfs understood without Thorin having to say anything and didn’t inquire after Thorin’s missing guest and the hollow he left behind.

At the wedding, surrounded by fragrant flowers instead of glittering metal and gemstones, Thorin thought of the blue stone Kili had given him along with his fee before he went away. It looked bare until it was tilted at an angle to reveal a well-wishing word. Sometimes, Thorin ran his expert fingers over the rough and uneven faint lines. All these years and Kili’s craftsmanship still reflected his private sentiments rather than skill and finesse.

* * *

In the autumn, Kili came with a cooling rain. The children ran to welcome him and Thorin’s neighbors nodded in greeting. Some stopped him for a chat, but when he saw that Thorin was watching him, Kili left them, grinning in excitement to present him with his latest order. Kili had broken a set of knives this time – Thorin didn’t ask how – but now he only sat at the forge half the time, having finally taken up Thorin’s suggestion to explore the town. The absence of Kili’s voice and the steady sound of his knife on wood disconcerted Thorin. The loud clangs of metal hitting metal didn’t sound quite right without a steady hum of unknown songs or gentle noise of wood cut and carved into something worth loving and admiring. Thorin had had decades learning not to closely examine such feelings, but perhaps the town had softened him because this time he struggled to be indifferent. He put aside the first finished knife and began to fix a scythe.

* * *

Thorin didn’t know (didn’t think he should know) where Kili stayed while in town, but he knew Kili turned down offers of free lodging from his new friends. And there were many offers, one came right after another, accompanied by friendly laughter and even friendlier touches. Thorin tried to think of the last time he allowed such familiarity with Kili (it had been a cold winter night and Kili had been so warm pressed against him for the support he didn’t really need.) A flame Thorin knew all too well flared hot in the depth of his chest. The only thing that cooled it was Kili’s company, easy and comfortable in a way that settled Thorin’s heart like few things could.

Nearly a month into Kili’s stay, Thorin couldn’t put off repairing the final knife any longer. “Doesn’t your brother look for you?” he asked as he improved and looked for any minute imperfection of the expertly made weapon.

Kili stopped carving what looked like the wing of a toy dragon to answer him. Thorin didn’t look at it closely to determine the accuracy of the design. “He’s probably too busy with other matters.”

“Shouldn’t you be busy, too?” Thorin asked, the closest he had come to acknowledging his past in over a year. There was a brief flash of guilt as he thought of how he should be in Erebor, assisting Kili and prospering their people, but the weight of hammer in his hand and the heat of the forge grounded him, reminding him of where he truly belonged.

“I’m more likely to keep him busy!” Kili joked. “You know my nature doesn’t suit those halls,” he said more somberly later. The words were only audible because it came in the lull between one clang and another.

As soon as Thorin was finished with his knives, Kili was gone.

* * *

A spare, people had called Kili. They had celebrated his birth with satisfaction for it signified the security of the line of Durin. Thorin had never liked the word, how it reduced one to only be second to another. He had taught Kili as he had taught Fili, given them equal responsibilities, demanded equal achievements. But, the brothers weren’t one and the same. Whereas Fili accepted his future responsibilities readily and gracefully, Kili more carelessly followed his whims. From early age, it had been clear that the tedium of governance wasn’t where Kili belonged and Thorin must admit he was guilty for being weak to his sister-son, allowing him to grow into his own person instead of a contingency plan as politics demanded.

Thorin quenched the strong urge to send words to Erebor to remind the King under the Mountain that it was his duty to provide a place to everyone, even those who were more at home in fields and forests than his mountain kingdom. Instead, he sat on Kili’s chair and toyed with the wooden toy Kili had left there before we returned to Erebor. Thorin had been wrong. Kili hadn’t carved a dragon, nor had he carved a raven. With a turn of a wooden crank, a wooden flower bloomed in his hand.

* * *

Thorin was better prepared this winter. His pantry was full and he had cut enough wood to last him most of the season. In his free time, he helped his neighbors reinforced their houses against the coming bitter cold. Thorin was exhausted, but when the cold forced the town to retreat indoors, he at least had a comfortable home to shelter him and the comforting knowledge that his friends had the same.

The growing pile of snow outside muffled noises, enveloping Thorin with quietness that only broke when the logs in his hearth crackled. He pulled his thin fur coat closer around himself and inhaled deeply from his pipe. His gaze was drawn to the small stone above the hearth, bluer than deep rivers and lake, bluer than the sky of any season, bluer than the swishing coat of a rebellious prince. The snow continued to pile up outside where it couldn’t reach or muffle the strange yet unfamiliar tune Thorin drew from memories of pleasanter seasons, infectious joy, and a forge burning controlled and strong.

* * *

When the knocks first came, Thorin thought it was his imagination. He had barely seen his neighbors in days as the winter determinedly crawled to its peak. But, when the noise came again, Thorin rose from his chair, frowning in concern because only the most pressing needs drew people out of their homes in this weather. He didn’t expect opening the door to the sight of Kili bundled up in thick coat dusted with snow, grinning as warm as summertime.

“Thorin! I’m here to…”

“What are you doing here?” Thorin demanded. The light from the hearth caught on a bead that had never been on Kili’s hair, a bead Thorin had painstakingly carved his own name into. A gust of cold wind entered the small house, yet there was a heat deep inside Thorin. He grabbed Kili and pulled him inside. “Get in here before you catch your death,” he said, then closed the door to leave the world behind them.

* * *

Kili’s mouth was as sweet as Thorin shouldn’t have ever imagined, his body as sinewy and strong as Thorin shouldn’t have ever dreamt, his heat as intoxicating as Thorin shouldn’t have ever wanted, his moans and sighs as addictive as Thorin shouldn’t have ever known. Thorin sank into him slowly again and again. His fingers were in Kili’s dark hair, his mouth on Kili’s neck, his heart in Kili’s hands. He shouldn’t, but he came inside Kili for the first time with a smile.

* * *

“My forge is closed in winter,” Thorin informed him as he pressed his lips on the dip of Kili’s spine. He caressed Kili’s inner thighs and spread them further apart.

“Oh,” Kili responded, winded and distracted. He clutched Thorin’s thin sheet tightly and dug his forehead into Thorin’s pillow as Thorin dragged his lips up to the nape of his neck. “Should I- _ah_!”

Thorin held him close and they spoke no more.

* * *

Thorin hadn’t prepared his pantry to accommodate two people, so he and Kili ventured to the forest to hunt. Kili’s feet were light as ever, making a way noiselessly on pure white snow to shoot down a few small animals. When he was tired of the games and Thorin’s stock, Kili convinced Thorin to go to the tavern. No one was surprised to see Kili back and embraced him as if he had never left. Somehow, the sight warmed Thorin’s heart. He and Kili spent hours dancing and singing and walking home leaning on each other for support. Even in winter, Kili was all heat of summer sun. Thorin couldn’t but smile when he laid him down on his small bed and smile even wider when he held him later to sleep.

At the height of winter, when it was too cold to venture out to warm themselves in the tavern, they huddled close in front of the fire, layers of blankets and fur around them. Kili was sat beside him, blowing smoke with contended sighs and an expression Thorin wished he could immortalize. Thorin’s fingers found their ways to Kili’s hair, running through it in fond idleness. Kili started and turned to him in askance. Thorin didn’t know what Kili saw, but Kili smiled a gentle smile Thorin always pretended he didn’t see and put his hand on Thorin’s thigh, his thumb tracing small circles there, and Thorin thought his heart would burst.

* * *

It was an eventuality that winter should give way for spring. The days grew warmer and brighter. The air was filled with the promise of the return of life. Yet, despite the increasing cheer, Thorin became more and more somber. He watched his young guest closely in the day and held him close in the night, but in the end it couldn’t be avoided that he said what he should’ve said a long time ago, even before he left Erebor.

“You don’t have to follow me,” he told Kili one pleasant morning. “You may choose any path you like, even if it’s one I don’t take or anyone doesn’t want you to take. It’s your life.”

Once Kili had gotten over his astonishment, he shook his head. “And what makes you think _your_ path is not the one I want?” he asked.

“Kili,” Thorin sighed and regarded him seriously. “All your life, people have told you what’s expected of you, what you should and shouldn’t be and do. But, I’ll tell you what I should’ve said had I not been in the position to demand so much from you: it’s your life and you should live it as you choose, not as others expected. Be what you want to be, find what you like to do. Be happy.”

Kili looked at him for a long time. Thorin didn’t think he imagined the tremor in his chin or his hands. But, then Kili dropped his gaze and Thorin didn’t pursue the subject any further. The spring was coming. Thorin tried hard not to count the days till then.

* * *

The first day the sun drew out people from their homes, Thorin casted his gaze around the small space of his home and took in the bow and quiver in the corner, box of smoking weed on the table, pipe by the bedside, the pile of blankets and fur at the foot of the bed. He went to pay the old warrior a long visit and came back to find Kili roasting pheasant for their lunch.

On the day Thorin reopened his forge and cleaned his equipment, Kili helped him until the last speck of dust was cleaned. Then, to the tavern they went, as some neighbors had seen them hard at work and invited them to celebrate the newly arrived season, a new beginning. They collapsed in bed later that night full of laughter and smiles and Kili kissed him so deeply Thorin felt he was flying.

When work started to pour in, Thorin could spare little time for Kili, but it quite all right, as Kili easily found occupations elsewhere. One day, Kili came home covered in dirt from a day of helping a farmer at a field, so Thorin marched him to the river to bathe. The water was cold, so Kili shouted in protest and complaint, but he was quiet when Thorin warmed him with fur around his shoulders and a kiss on his cold lips.

By the end of spring, Kili seemed to be set on becoming a miner. But, at the beginning of summer, he announced that he would serve as a guard for a merchant in town. The job required him to travel from time to time, but for no more than a week. Less than a fortnight later, Kili returned from his first expedition with a big smile and a small purse of coin. Thorin stored the silver with his payments from his customers in a wooden box with a blue stone on its lid.

When it became too hot to share a small bed, Thorin built another one. A curious neighbor saw and asked about it, so he answered something indistinct about how it was getting tiresome taking turn to sleep on the hard floor. Hours later, Kili came home laughing, having somehow heard people talk about their supposedly sad sleeping arrangement. They shared the new bed that night, naked but for wide smiles and hushed laughs, although Kili pushed Thorin back to his own bed when it became too hot some time past midnight.

On the last day of summer, a lass approached Kili at the tavern and requested a dance. Kili didn’t hesitate to shake his head, claiming that he was a poor dancer and even poorer singer. Instead, he volunteered to play fiddle he borrowed from the tavern owner, much to the wild cheers of other patrons and the mild disappointment of the lass. Thorin began to plot saving money to buy Kili a fiddle, unable to resist the appeal of filling the snug space of his house with solemn hums and cheerful tunes of folk songs.

As autumn spread its orange fingertips across the land, Thorin and Kili divided tasks and chores, collecting food and other necessities for the coming winter. They saved every coin they could and mended the old roof and walls of the house to trap the heat inside. Then, as the days became colder, they pushed their beds together and took fur and blankets from the storage. With the last of the gold and silver he had brought from Erebor, Kili purchased thick sturdy coats for himself and Thorin, having sent his fine coat back to his mother and brother a couple of days before.

Winter arrived, once again forcing Thorin to close his forge. Kili helped him put his tools away and close down the building until spring. Unlike the past two winters, Thorin wasn’t worried about running low on food or money, having checked his coffer and pantry with Kili the day before. He and Kili returned home to a lit hearth and Thorin poured two tankards of ale for them. Outside, snow began to fall. Inside, the logs crackled warmly. Beside Thorin, Kili smiled and hummed a song they had heard at the tavern last week. Thorin found Kili’s free hand, tangled their fingers together, and sighed in contentment.

* * *

“Are you ever going home?” he asked one night at the brink of sleep.

Kili laughed, his warm breath caressing Thorin’s neck. “I was beginning to think you’ve forgotten to ask!”

Thorin grunted. “Of course I remember,” he said gruffly but fondly, too.

Kili scoffed and wrapped his arm around Thorin tighter. “If you mean am I ever going back to Erebor, then the answer is no,” he said with unusual solemnness. “I’ve chosen my path. I’m home, where I want to be.”

The silence that followed this declaration was comfortable. There was but very little weight that lifted off Thorin’s heart to hear it. He’d known it for a while, although it was still comforting to hear it spoken. Running his fingers through Kili’s hair, he breathed, “all right.”

“I expected more argument from you,” Kili remarked, chuckling, although he sounded unsurprised, as if he also had expected Thorin’s easy acceptance.

“No, you won’t hear any argument from me on that score, dearest heart.” Thorin kissed Kili’s forehead and closed his eyes, falling slowly asleep in the comfort and warmth of the home he hadn’t known he wanted and lover he would always cherish.

**Author's Note:**

> It turns out that this type of fic is deceptively simple. I rewrote half of this fic last night. It was still too long for my taste, so I got rid of some less important details. 
> 
> I can be found on [tumblr](http://demonessryu.tumblr.com/).


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